by David Pirie
Here I fretted and paced, wondering what would occur. He was not there by six, nor by seven, and I was struggling to find some distraction in the morning paper and an article about the situation in Egypt and the fate of poor Captain Moncrieff at the hands of hostile Bedouins in Souakim when there was a sharp knock on the door.
I sprang up to open it. Bell stood there on the threshold and his demeanour was entirely changed. He had a fistful of telegrams and an evening newspaper in his hand, as he strode forward into the room, flushed with excitement.
Scattering the telegrams on the table beside the newspaper, he turned to face me. ‘I will not apologise again, Doyle, I did only what I had to and now we must move on. It is fortunate the student term here is all but over and I will explain I am having to go south to sort out some odd bequests of property Professor Fleming made to the faculty. So he did but it need not take up very much time.’
I seized the first telegram which was from Sally Morland. ‘Yes,’ said Bell, ‘Mrs Sally Morland confirms your account in detail. You were taken away for urgent attention. They were assured you were making a good recovery but are now becoming concerned they have heard nothing of you or, you will note, of their friendly uncle, apart from a cable saying you were all right and convalescing.’
So they were unharmed. It was a massive relief. Silently, too, I blessed Sally for her promptness in the reply. Bell must have read my thoughts. ‘Do not worry,’ he said, ‘I have already replied saying you are safe and we intend to visit them.’
‘Do we?’ I said, for, as so often before, the Doctor had switched from passivity to action at a pace that was dizzying to behold.
‘My dear Doyle,’ said Bell, ‘we have waited five years. I wished to test the ground but now I know it is firm, I have no intention of delay. He has chosen to return to the field. It is the opportunity we sought and we must take it at once.’
PART TWO:
THE QUEST
THE VALLEY OF DEATH
I have written that my cases with the Doctor were conducted in the greatest confidence, a confidence I only break now because of certain events. Yet inevitably there were echoes in the fiction, written so many years later. Some of these were distant, all (as I have shown with The Speckled Band and the matter of Heather Grace) were expurgated. And the harrowing affair in southern England that began on our long and complicated train journey out of Edinburgh in December 1883 was to find its most obvious, if not its only, echo in what would prove to be my most notorious story, The Final Problem.
That tale, in its truncated and softened way, was almost more of a parable of some aspects of the following events than anything truly resembling them. Yet in one respect at least I do see a direct match, namely the urgency and excitement with which Bell and I embarked on our journey from Edinburgh the following morning, just as my heroes embarked on the continental express from Victoria to escape the hand of Moriarty. The major difference being that in our case there was to be no peaceful Swiss wandering, in fact the urgency only seemed to increase with each new development.
As we sped through the outskirts of Edinburgh in an otherwise empty carriage on the first leg of our journey, I had rarely seen the Doctor so energised and at once he started to explore the newspapers. It turned out there had been a small item the previous evening, in the Edinburgh Evening News, a newspaper that had begun publishing shortly before I became a student and tended to feature slightly more outré items than its morning stable-mate The Scotsman. Even so, the paragraph was small and rather cryptic.
Mystery of Body in Cottage
Police in Salisbury have reported the discovery of the body of a man in an isolated country cottage near the Meldreth valley. His small home was utterly disordered and he had clearly been cudgelled to death though it was several days before the authorities were alerted and he was found. A full investigation is being undertaken and further details are awaited.
Dr Bell had searched the morning papers eagerly but found only one item which added little more. ‘It can only mean,’ he said, ‘that the police are not anxious to stir up interest in the matter. They have probably decided their fugitive has gone to ground locally and the last thing they wish to do is alert him with headlines.’ He pushed the newspapers away. ‘You did very well, Doyle, to escape their net, but in any case what need have we for newspapers when the primary witness is here with us? I would like you to go through it with me again in every detail.’
The Doctor was back in the hunt he loved and it made his questions exhaustive to a point, I will admit, that was not altogether pleasant. Especially when he bade me to close my eyes and see that cottage again in all its grisly detail. He asked about every aspect of the interior and also of the terrain round about. Finally, after he had heard all my adventures at the greatest length, he was satisfied and he leant back and closed his eyes.
For my part I was quite happy to think of other things and I read the newspapers from cover to cover. After Darlington, the Doctor broke his silence but only to discuss mundane matters like our strategies at the various stations ahead and our best hopes for refreshment when we stopped.
That night was spent in Northampton in a small hotel adjoining the station. The Doctor had paid for our rooms and I raised this matter with him the next morning while we were enjoying a large breakfast, for, as he pointed out, we could not be sure when we would be eating again. It did not, I told him, seem right that he was personally funding our whole excursion and I intended to repay him on my return.
‘My dear Doyle,’ he said as he attacked his ham and eggs with some gusto, ‘that is an absurd suggestion. You are only starting out and have little enough, I have enough and a little more. But more importantly what you cannot know is that I have been preparing a long time for this eventuality. It was obvious to me we would encounter him again and that, quite apart from everything else, it might prove costly to our purse. Fortunately in the years since you left Edinburgh I have on occasions been able to help private citizens requiring a solution to their problems. Few would fall into the category of major cases but quite a number involved wealthy people who insisted on reimbursing me handsomely. I decided from the first that any money I earnt in this way should be repaid to society and I was sure I knew the best way to achieve this. I therefore placed it in a war-chest to be used against him as and when required and I can assure you this has nothing whatsoever to do with charity. You are no use to me unless you are fed and rested and watered. The money will be employed as long as it is required. It is certainly required now so I will hear no more about expenses. There is much more pressing business at hand.’
I had often chided Bell for not doing enough about Cream while he was counselling patience so I could hardly fault him now. It was, as I reflected at the time, the Doctor at his best and, after gratefully agreeing, I never raised the matter again.
By late morning our train was past the dull clay vales of Oxford and into the rolling hills and green water meadows of Wiltshire. The Doctor pored over his maps and started to make many notes, for he already used my description, and what I had learnt about the locality from Middleton, to identify the likely whereabouts of the cottage. We arrived at Salisbury in the early afternoon and at once he commandeered a cab. Naturally I expected him to head for a local inn where we could make ourselves comfortable and begin our enquiries, but to my amazement he handed the cabby, a small and rather thickset man, what appeared to be detailed directions to the cottage itself.
Our cabby showed no particular surprise beyond pointing out the fare would be considerable as it was more than two hours’ journey, but Bell seemed perfectly happy and settled himself back in his seat.
I, however, felt a good deal less sanguine. ‘You think it is prudent?’ I said. ‘Will not the police be there?’
He hardly seemed to consider my words. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Oh well we will no doubt have to encounter them at some point,’ and went back to his map. I did not find this particularly reassuring. I was all too aware t
hat once the Doctor had the scent of a case he was often so absorbed that he became entirely reckless about personal risk. The fact that I might be under grave suspicion of murder was simply of no interest to him, indeed he would regard it as irrelevant.
It was, therefore, with a sinking heart that I saw the terrain around us change. The pleasant hills gave way to more dramatic scenery, and within the hour we were approaching woods that I knew would take us into the heart of the valley I felt no wish to see again.
The day was damp and cheerless, though not particularly cold, and, as we drove under the trees, I began to experience a grim sense of recognition. But my companion was, in contrast, increasingly animated, lecturing me on various standing stones we passed and the pattern of a Roman road we crossed, as if we were embarking on some topographical outing.
The cab found it rougher going as we began to climb back out of the wood and the road made a series of bends. Above us now were green and sodden fields, and I knew exactly where I was. Within a few minutes the cottage itself was in sight, an ugly sentinel of grey stone.
Bell gave me one glance to ascertain we had indeed found our destination and soon he was calling the cab to stop and jumped out. I got up to follow, despite a distinct reluctance to renew my acquaintance with the place, and after just a few paces I was standing close to the spot where I had waited for Cream. It was a little brighter now but the walls of the cottage still looked blank and foreboding and I felt a terrible sense of impotence. Strangely perhaps my feeling of humiliation was almost more intense now than it had been when I was a prisoner here, facing death. Then I had been drugged and was subject to the fierce animal instincts of pain, dread and revenge. Now, more my old self, my mind was consumed only with the enormity of what my enemy had done and could do. Behind me, the cab clipped away down the hill, leaving us utterly alone. Bell had made arrangements with the man to return in two hours. He had been given money for his lunch as well as the fare thus far. Yet a part of me wondered whether he would bother to return. Would it not be easier for him to travel back to Salisbury and find some other custom?
The Doctor was wasting no time and I followed him round to the back, only to find the door had been fitted with a new stout padlock. We went to the window which had been boarded up and nailed. With the help of a stone which we rolled into place, we took it in turns to peer into the room through a gap in the wood but there was little to see for it had been largely emptied.
Next, the Doctor made what I strongly suspect was a fruitless examination of the grounds. I have no idea what he had expected, for several days had after all elapsed since the discovery of the crime. But of course he was used to being given unlimited and immediate access to any criminal scene he investigated and no doubt he felt as if he were being deprived of his most essential tools. At one point he returned to the door and I could not help noticing how he eyed the heavy stone we had used to stand on, and its proximity to the padlock.
‘I do not think it would be wise,’ I said, ‘to enter by force. We have no authority here and indeed I was once the chief suspect. The police would certainly be highly suspicious.’
He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘I suppose you are right,’ he said, ‘though it is tantalising.’
At that moment both of us heard the noise. Occasionally vehicles had passed during the afternoon but this was closer and I was sure too I saw some movement in the vegetation at the bottom of the garden. We had no time to move away from the door as footsteps came rapidly round the house and two figures appeared: a uniformed policeman and a tall man, evidently a detective whom I was sure I recognised from the last time I was in this garden.
‘So our surveillance has proved successful,’ the detective said. ‘I believe you have been here before. You are under arrest.’
THE FACE AT THE QUARTER MOON
Before he could reach us, however, Bell himself strode forward to meet them, his silver-topped cane in hand. ‘I apologise, Detective,’ he said in his most affable manner, ‘if I have startled your men and I am glad you had the cottage watched. But my business is the same as yours. I am Professor Bell of Edinburgh University, this is my colleague, a medical graduate of the same university, and we have an interest in this terrible case.’
I noticed Bell did not offer my name. No doubt he was being careful, for he had shown concern when I told him it was known to those who had helped me escape.
As it was, the detective looked little reassured, and I reflected how fortunate it was that they had not arrived to find us breaking down the door. ‘What interest could that possibly be, sir?’ he said in an accent with a slight West Country lilt, as another uniformed policeman appeared from the garden. ‘It is a long way to come from Edinburgh and what in the world has this crime to do with Scotland?’
‘Nothing whatsoever,’ said Bell, ‘but you can verify with Inspector Miller at Scotland Yard that it may well have a connection to a case that my colleague here and myself resolved in London with Miller’s help only a few weeks ago. That is what brings us here and Inspector Miller himself or his superior will be able to answer for our bona fides.’
Spoken, as this was, in Bell’s confident tones, it had an altogether different effect. The policeman did not smile or offer his hand, but he looked the Doctor up and down, no doubt reflecting that Bell’s story, while unexpected, was perhaps more likely than the idea of two reckless criminals returning for no apparent reason to a savage crime scene.
‘Well, I am Inspector Randall,’ he said. ‘I am in charge of this matter and if there is any truth in what you say, you should have informed me. How long have you been in the area?’
‘Only two hours,’ said Dr Bell. ‘We arrived by train this afternoon and I would take it as a great favour if you would let me examine the inside of the house.’
Randall paused, considering. ‘Well, I can establish the truth of your claim very easily. I was going to enter anyway to see all was as it should be. You can come in but we are not leaving you here alone.’
‘That suits us perfectly,’ said the Doctor, smiling. ‘I am sorry to have created a false alarm but it is extremely fortunate you arrived when you did.’
The policeman now turned his attention to me. ‘And you are a doctor too, sir?’ he asked, but I could see he was looking at the scar on my neck that had been left by Cream’s knife.
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I qualified under Bell here and now practise in Southsea.’
‘And your name?’
I had been avoiding this of course. ‘It is Arthur Conan Doyle.’ I put the emphasis on my middle name, which I would not normally have used.
He did look at me with more interest than I liked, but in the end it cannot have meant anything to him for he turned back to the padlock.
At once the first uniformed man stepped forward with two keys and the doors were opened. Of course there was no trace at all of the body that had once lain in this space and even the smell was gone, leaving only a faint musty odour.
The policeman went in first but Inspector Randall and the other policeman waited behind for us to enter. And so it was that Bell and I found ourselves walking into the room where I had been kept captive.
It was still a horrible place, dull and cold, but now there was enough light from the open door and the unboarded parts of the window to see the interior. That screen was still there and I moved past it quickly to find my bed had been stripped and was now little more than a bare wooden frame. But, as we had seen from the window, everything else had gone. It was not merely the furniture which had been removed. I could find nothing else at all, not even the breadcrumbs I had swept to the ground when I resisted the food. Even the fireplace was clean.
The Doctor was scrutinising the floor and the walls but I cannot imagine what he hoped to find. Meanwhile Inspector Randall looked round with satisfaction, though why he thought anyone would have had the slightest interest in breaking into this empty space was a little baffling. Perhaps his feelings in this respect were almost proprietor
ial. He had found serious disorder here, a putrefied body, a filthy bed, a dirty room with rotting food. He had transformed this into the sterile space we found before us, and now merely wished — with a policeman’s love of order — to reassure himself the chaos had not returned.
This was hardly an attitude designed to appeal to Bell, who looked more and more irritated as his examination progressed. ‘As you can see, gentlemen,’ said Randall smugly, ‘we put the place back in order. There is not a great deal to interest you here.’
‘Indeed there is not,’ said Bell, coming back from the far corner. ‘You have cleaned it out so well it can only mean you have solved every aspect of the case and have no need of further clues. My congratulations. What happened here and where is the arrested man?’
Not knowing Bell and being, from what I could see, a somewhat unimaginative man, Randall had no idea he was being insulted. At the same time the words did make him a little uneasy. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you are aware we found the proprietor of this cottage bludgeoned to death between the two doors. Lucas Weltham was a strange man who kept himself to himself. There were rumours he had a miser’s hoard, though I am very doubtful it was true. In any case, he had been dead for around two weeks when the body was found and there was certain evidence his attacker had been living here for several days after his death. No doubt the man wanted to make as thorough a search of the place as possible in the hope of finding more than he did. There was food, and we also discovered laudanum. The criminal was clearly a degenerate individual, for not only was the place rank and filthy, but he engaged in quite pointless destruction.’
‘Of what kind?’ said Bell. And I marvelled, not for the first time, at the Doctor’s ability to assume authority even in the most unpropitious circumstances. A few moments ago he had been considered a possible felon, now it was as if he were interrogating a junior officer and the other policemen hung on his words with respect.
